by R. J. Lewis
Keeping myself busy, I carried the bucket back into the bathroom. I avoided looking at myself in the mirror as I quickly stripped off my bodice. I didn’t want to see my body blushing, red still from the reminder of his touch.
I was disgusting for feeling this way.
My vagina was tingling for goodness sake.
I was so, so disgusting.
Snarling at myself, the self-loathing in me present as ever, I filled up the bucket with water and set it on the ground. Then I dunked the same piece of cloth he used to clean me in it. My body was still so sore, bending over was a mission. I made quick work of cleaning myself, hating to admit I really was filthy. Thankfully, I was still mostly hairless from Sonja’s amateur waxing the day before my wedding. At least I didn’t have to contend with sweating bullets and being a hairy ape in the process. The soap, once wet, smelled like sandalwood. I scrubbed myself senseless, making sure every inch of me was clean. I regained my hygiene, and it made me feel pretty good for a short while.
I crept to the window afterwards and watched the sky. It slowly changed colours as the day went by. It wasn’t as stimulating or fun. Truth be told, it was downright maddening.
The day passed slowly. I felt every minute like a weight growing heavier. I laid in bed with eyes closed, listening to the sounds of leaves swaying and monkeys howling in the distance. If I tried, I could pretend I was in a resort, eyes closed to the sounds of nature. I could pretend, for a quick moment, I had chosen to retreat into a quiet room to relax.
Then, I’d hear a man laugh, or smell the smoke of fire, or cigarette wafting into the window, and my make-belief would shatter.
As the evening crept in, so did the same partying as the night before. The howls, the girls giggling, my stomach growling louder and louder – these were the things I couldn’t run away from! And the more I was left to my thoughts, the angrier I grew. Another common feeling.
I found myself pacing the room, feeling like I was crawling out of my skin again. Zero stimulation, with nothing but a shitty past to reflect on. I grabbed the bucket he used to clean me and threw it against the wall. When that didn’t help calm me, I went to the door and kicked at it with my bare foot.
“If I’m not a prisoner, then why am I locked in here?!” I screamed.
I knew the answer already. For some godforsaken reason, this bastard wanted my permission to marry me. He knew he didn’t need it. He knew I knew he didn’t need it. It wasn’t like Tony asked for it when I was forced to enter that agreement either. What was the point of this fucking game? Why not frog march me to a minister and just get this goddamn thing over with? Why give me the fucking illusion of a choice? I didn’t have one! And yet I was acting like I did, because when push came to shove, I didn’t want it!
Fuming like never before, I kicked the door so hard, excruciating pain shot up my toe and I fell back, landing on my ass. I groaned, holding my foot to my stomach. Blood poured of my broken toenail. My whole body felt weakened by it. The anger drained out of me straight away like air from a popped balloon. I nursed my toe – and more so my ego – back to bed.
Feeling utterly forgotten, I sat there, drowned in my thoughts and the faint sound of laughter. The hunger in me twisted, reminding me of that harrowing time in my life. I thought of Mom. Of Naynay. Of the Eternity old man. Of my innocence drained so early in my life.
Tears fell from my eyes.
Loneliness strangled me.
I didn’t want those memories. I didn’t want to relive what I lost. There was only so much pain I could endure. I grasped at my hair and pulled, tortured by the past, trapped in the present, and cursed with a future I had no control over.
Hunger wasn’t an old friend.
It was my enemy.
Right before it got dark, he returned, but not with Christy. I’d been dozing to sleep when he walked in, a fresh pair of clothing over his shoulder, holding a red apple in one hand and in the other was the same blade from the other night.
There was no reprieve from this man. He just kept coming, and I had no choice but to face him time and time again. Admittedly, a small part of me was thrilled, and there was no logical reason why. I chose not to question it. Not now, anyway.
His presence sent a zap of energy through me. It was like seeing light when you had been in the dark for so long. I sat up slowly and rested my back against the wall. He grabbed the chair and sat down in front of me, placing the clothes under the chair. Kicking his legs up so his feet were on the edge of the bed, he cut his apple, all the while watching me watch him.
It was hard pretending I wasn’t interested. He was the only person I’d seen all day. My eyes went over him. He was still wearing his black tank, but this time it was covered in dried mud. His arms were covered in it too. His hair wasn’t tied back. It fell around his shoulders, black as the night sky, and damp from the humidity. There was stubble on his cheeks, a light beard forming.
Yeah, he was a good-looking guy. An unusually good-looking one, in fact. He had all the makings of a male model and a spot in a magazine. I laughed lightly at that thought, it was so fucking incredulous to imagine him posing in front of a lens, this criminal dickhead that wanted me to bend to his will, and what for? For my permission to get married to him? I’d already established he didn’t need it. I knew this was a game but couldn’t decide the purpose of it. Either he was trying to break me or use me to cure his own boredom. I didn’t know which was better.
He raised a brow, curious.
“Nothing,” I muttered on a shrug. “Your little lap dog isn’t here to translate anyway,” I added, rolling my eyes. “You know she looks at you like you’re a demigod, right?”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t look like he understood a single thing I said either. He even looked good unaware. What a cruel world. Bad people were supposed to look bad.
I watched him cut the apple in tiny shreds. He took the first bite slowly, his red lips parting as he slipped the apple in. That tug inside of me could be felt again as I absentmindedly looked him over. I saw the veins protruding from his muscles, saw his biceps flex involuntarily as he ate. It made me want to laugh again, but I swallowed instead, deciding my focus should be on the damn apple. It looked good, and my stomach agreed with a growl.
He must have heard it, because he cut another bit and raised the blade not to his mouth, but to me. His brows went up in question, waiting. A bolt of energy travelled up my spine, pushing me to take it. I stared at the apple on the blade and then at him, unsure. What was this about? He wanted to feed me? Why? What sadism was he up to this time?
He barely waited three seconds and then he brought it back to his mouth. It made my stomach drop. This was torture and…Oh, right, that was his mission. To torture me into submission.
I gritted my teeth and glared at him. His lips lifted slightly. That was as close to a laugh as this man could muster, I assumed.
“I don’t want your fucking apple,” I told him.
He raised his blade to me, clearly not understanding. Fucking hell, a three-year-old would catch the gist better than this guy.
I shook my head, flustered and irritated, and fucking confused with myself because I wanted to take a bite of that apple to stop my stomach from gnawing a hole in me, and at the same time, I wanted him to fly a fucking kite.
He took a bite of it, and I exhaled sharply. He did this often. Offering and then eating. By the fourth time, I’d snapped. “Fine. Just so you’ll go away.”
He looked at me, not understanding.
“I’ll have a bite,” I explained, jerking my head at the damn apple. “A BITE!”
Ah, that made him understand. Maybe yelling helped get my goddamn point across. He cut another bit and raised it to me. I slid to the end of the bed and raised my hand out for him to drop it into. He didn’t, though. He motioned with his chin to come closer. My jaw clenched. With caution, I slowly leaned forward, and then he dropped his legs down and leaned too, so we were face to face, barely a foot apart.
>
I didn’t anticipate this.
I also didn’t like the fact he had a pointy object so close to me.
He brought the blade to my mouth. I gave him a pointed look and he simply raised his brows, waiting. I wanted to die. This was humiliating, but goddamn, if it made him go away I’d do it. I opened my mouth, pretending I wasn’t perturbed in the slightest that he was staring me in the eyes so deep it made me dizzy. He angled the knife and the apple fell into my mouth. His gaze dropped to my lips, and he watched me chew it.
I didn’t know if it tasted good. To be honest, my heart was hammering so hard in my chest, I tasted nothing but his stare. The man was empty. I noticed that sort of look. I saw that exact desolation in my reflection. I knew it like the back of my hand, but where mine was empty and miserable, his was cold and thunderous. It put me on edge. A man with that look was capable of anything.
I had to tread carefully.
He fed me like that until there was nothing left of the apple, and I didn’t protest. Honestly, I was too afraid to. I didn’t want a repeat of the other two nights, even if for some bizarre reason I felt an addictive surge of adrenaline come out of them. But again, that was because I was off my freaking rocker.
He leaned back in his chair when we finished eating. I backed away too until my back was against the wall again. Putting distance between us was vital. Being near him made me hazy, and I didn’t trust myself when I was this kind of hazy. I could feel him coolly studying me, but at this point I was too tired to care. I looked out the window instead, watching as the sun disappeared behind the trees. Darkness crept in slowly.
“This is when the Bogeyman comes,” I whispered to myself, a forlorn tug in my heart, recalling the nights I feared a man that was nothing more than a drug dealer in the end.
I looked back at Reaper, and his brows were furrowed in question.
“He was a monster,” I muttered, for no other reason than to express myself outwards for once. “He killed Mom. Not purposely, but…it’s the same thing, isn’t it? He killed her indirectly, but she knew the risks. Bad batch of drugs, or maybe…maybe she had a feeling something was wrong because…she held me tightly that night. She never did that. She never apologized or told me she had a problem. It was the first time I ever felt so happy with her because I thought things would change. Then I woke up, and I thought she was asleep…but she was cold. So cold.”
A tear fell from my eye, and I quickly wiped it, images of her dead face haunting me. I always pushed the thoughts away. They usually snuck up on me in dreams, but in this hole of a room, I couldn’t push the images away any longer.
“I’d stand by the window every morning, watching people move, watching them live and wonder…what is that like? What is it like to live?” I swallowed, lost in a moment of weakness as I recalled my young self, standing by that window. “I cry for that girl. I cry because she was so hopeful. And all she wanted was a wave.” I looked down at my hand, stretching out my fingers like I was about to wave too. Then I scoffed. “I would be a therapist’s wet dream.”
Reaper looked thoughtful the next time I looked at him. “I’d ask you what you’re thinking, but…”
He narrowed his eyes at me, clueless.
I shook my head, exasperated. “Is this what marriage would be like to you then? You feed me apple from a blade you probably killed people with and we don’t speak? I’m not very sold on the idea just yet.” Then again, I could take the peace. “Lose the bucket and maybe I’ll think some more about it,” I continued, making myself chuckle and cringe. I was so pathetic. “Honestly, it’s probably better you don’t understand. You have no idea how fucking crazy I sound right now.”
He ran his finger up and down the blade, watching me, watching my chest move, watching my eyes stare back at him. I didn’t feel comfortable one bit. He was dissecting me, pulling me apart, not knowing a single word I’d said, yet I felt like he understood me in a different way. He might have sensed my isolation, sensed how desperate I was getting, and sensed that he had finally found my weakness: loneliness.
It irked me.
Finally, he closed the blade and clipped it back into his belt. Then he tossed the apple core on the plate with the old food that was sitting on the ground. Bending down, he scooped the fresh set of clothes from under the chair and threw them over his shoulder. With a locked jaw, he looked back at me and my bodice. Then he stood and used his finger to motion me up.
“Levántate,” he said, his voice indiscernible.
Feeling wary, I didn’t move. There was challenge in both of us for a split second. I could see his body tense, getting ready to strike at me if I didn’t do as I was told. The clock was ticking. I looked him over, taking in his width and raw strength, contemplating the truth of whether I was digging my heels in because I wanted to be manhandled again verses just plain out disobeying for the sake of it. My heightened senses, and the fact my body was tingling in excitement, revealed which one of the two I was gunning for.
He raised his brows, expectantly, sensing where my thoughts were going. I was disturbed by my urges. I didn’t need him touching me again, and yet…
He suddenly made to grab me when I put my finger up, stopping him. “I’m getting up,” I hissed, speedily. “You don’t need to be a control freak about it, alright?’
I cautiously slid off the bed, keeping an eye on him and that blade. It was put away, but I wasn’t convinced it would be for long if I didn’t comply. I stood up, aware that he hadn’t moved back to give me space. He stayed rooted in his spot, forcing me to stand before him, hardly a foot apart. I had to crane my head to look up at his face, locking eyes with him. Brown against brown. Only his eyes were darker, deeper, colder.
He raised a shirt to me, dropping his gaze to my bodice. He wanted me out of it, and again, I was faced with no choice. Clenching my teeth, I slipped the straps off my shoulders and pulled the bodice down my waist. It slid easily around the hips, surprising me. I’d struggled to put it on the morning of my wedding. All that comfort eating now replaced with plates of beans and chicken broth. Sonja would envy me right now.
Once past the hips, the bodice fell down my legs, and I stepped out of it, careful not to put weight on my bruised toe. Hair fell over my face as I peered down and kicked the bodice away. Admittedly, it felt a little good knowing I was shedding the last remainder of item that symbolized my ties to Tony. That fucking sadist.
In nothing but thin white panties and a push up bra, I stood there, aware of how little was between us. With hesitation, I raised my head and looked back at him, this time a lot more vulnerable than before. Reaper wasn’t looking back. His eyes fell to my breasts, lingering there for a beat too long.
Heat flooded my cheeks. “My shirt,” I forced out, pointing to my torso, but it came out shaky and…a little uncertain.
The most devilish smirk spread on his face as he finally looked up at me and handed me my shirt. The look was so unexpected, I was momentarily struck by it. He almost looked…boyish. It was the cocky look of a man that got his way.
I took the shirt from him roughly, but it was all for show. Inside I was tingling everywhere, a little delighted he wasn’t immune to me. I guessed I had come a long way from being a crack in the sidewalk.
The shirt was a beige button up and way too big. It had his scent all over it, making me aware as ever that it was his. There was a weird intimate feeling to that thought. That he wore this, hadn’t even washed it, was probably covered in his sweat too, which should have put me off, but the guy’s jaw could cut steel, so I wasn’t all that upset. I slid my arms into it, feeling every inch of me burn as he looked me over from top to bottom. I caught the way his lips spread apart, only briefly, but enough to understand the direction his thoughts went.
For a moment, I wondered if it’d been a while since he’d seen a woman like this, but then I was reminded of the two jungle skanks that arrived the other day. To my dismay, I wondered if he’d had his turn with them – after all, he was t
he leader. The thought soured my mood. Frowning, I buttoned up the shirt. It fell just past my bum, reminding me for the billionth time this guy could squash me like a bug.
“My pants,” I pointed out next, raising my arm out for it.
Instead of handing it over, he was too busy looking at my legs.
“Pants,” I repeated, harder. I sounded as intimidating as a bunny in a meadow.
He smirked, throwing the pants back over his shoulder. My jaw dropped. Did he seriously just take them back?
“I’m not walking around in my underwear,” I told him, keeping my hand out to him.
He blinked in response, not wavering. His attention flickered to my face and coolly down to my legs. A leg man, was he? I clenched my teeth and dropped my hand. It was another battle I couldn’t win.
“I’m glad you like your merchandise,” I snipped, dryly. “But it won’t escalate past the no-pants stage at this rate. Maybe I’ll change my tune after that rope I asked for.”
I liked he couldn’t understand because it let me be brazen without caring of repercussions. Whereas Troy would have retorted with blade-in-vagina threats like it was the most casual thing in the world. I backed away from my predator, who was currently looking at me like I was a harmless kitten. I climbed into the bed, mindful every movement was being taken in like it was a matter of life or death. This man had a way of making you feel like you were under a magnifying glass. It was the most attention I’d ever received in my life, which was so painfully sad.
This was the longest he’d been around me, and I was aware he was about to leave after he glanced at the door behind him. Panic surged through my chest. I didn’t want to be alone so soon. This infuriating monster was better than the darkness. The darkness had monsters of their own.